David Copperfield: Sketches and Stories
by Wickfield
Summary: An ongoing series of ficlets around 100 words, written for FanFic100 from the POV of various David Copperfield characters.
1. a different wine

_**Written for the FanFic100 challenge**_

**a different wine.  
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_Prompt #060. Drink._

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He slowly finishes his wine, drinking it back, shimmering red in the light. Agnes poured it for him. She knows his addiction, knows his pain, knows she's powerless to stop it and yet she feels she shouldn't stop it, anyway. There are other kinds of addictions; she realizes this now. She used to yearn to break the curse that held her father in what seemed to be a terrible grasp, but now she knows that such demons can bring exquisite happiness also – and she thinks of a certain smile, a certain laugh, a certain touch, so far away.


	2. Dora's Will

_**Written for the FanFic100 challenge**_

_I dunno - a random semi-drabble about Dora, since I don't usually write about her and I probably should. I hope this isn't too redundant to the actual content of the novel! ;)_

**Dora's Will**

_Prompt #065. Passing._

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_There are times when Dora wants to beat her Doady with her little fists, because he smiles at Agnes, and cries at _her_, but of course she knows this is one of her stupid thoughts - since he only does it because she is dying and they all know it, but no one wants to talk about it.

"What a mean person I am." It is a vague, but insistent whisper in her mind, as she looks out the window, where Agnes and David bid each other farewell. It seems to her, sometimes, that she is a great Villain, and has stolen something; and she has thought this for quite some time now. "Though it's stupid of me."

And she looks once more out the window, and breathes, and suddenly, there is clarity, made blinding for the first time, in her fast-coming darkness.

"In stories the heroines make Dying Wishes," Dora murmurs, with some kind of resolute strength. "This will be my one."


	3. Underground

_**Written for the FanFic100 challenge**_

**Underground**

_Prompt: 085. She._

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_Peggotty realizes that it's not all selfless, her antagonism to this match: she knows she don't much care for a fourth party, in and of itself, someone taking her dear girl from her, giving her things Peggotty, no matter how hard she works, could never afford (barring only love and dedicated tenderness), but its harder still to see his swarthy brow, and strong countenance, and unwavering manner, sharply contrasted with the airy smile. She knows she an't the only one ill at ease in his gloomy presence; it's as though she sometimes feels a haunting from the little grave nearby.


	4. The Birdcage

_**Written for the FanFic100 challenge**_

_A slightly-too-long drabble, explaining a phenomenon my mother has told me about, that some men, who hate themselves, begin to hate their lovers once they realize they could possibly like them. Hopefully it's not too sympathetic to Murdstone!_

**The Birdcage**

_Prompt: 084. He._

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_For the man who has grown up with rigid law and strict composure forced upon his every slightest movement, a man cloaked in the consuming shadow of an austere elder sister, with every sentiment suppressed into an an efficient wall of reason, to LOVE - and be loved - is an experience of both pain and pleasure. The tender light that draws the shadow, at first, begins to scald in its brightness; it breeds his perverse loathing of she who faithfully loves him in return: to think that she founds her entire existence upon _himself_ disgusts him, for he hates all that represents him. And he strives to build up his same wall, the same cage around the pretty bird that haunts him. Sometimes, a wedding ring can be the gilded latch to this sordid cage.


	5. Message in a Bottle

_A/N: A slightly-too-long drabble, again, companion to "The Consequence of Yes." Poor Ham. ;)_  
_**Written for the FanFic100 challenge*_*

Message in a Bottle

_Prompt: 014. Green._

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_They used to tell him you could take one of them greenish glass bottles, and put a message inside of it, and throw it out into the sea, to let it be carried, in the soft lull of the depths, to a distant shore. He don't know what he'd write, or even if a bottle could hold all he has to say - "I love you," "I miss you." And, "I'm so sorry," written a million times. He wonders what she'd think, if he did it, and she found it. He thinks, maybe she'd just let it drift on away. "But, my dear - I'd be happy if you only looked at it - and knew how I were thinkin' o you still."


	6. Buttons

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Buttons**

_044. Circle._

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_It appears you have a choice to make, Peggotty old girl,_ that worthy maid said to herself, crawling about on hands and knees beneath the kitchen table. _Truly, you must either lay off the sweetmeats, or learn to laugh a little __**gentler**__!_

"What a LOT of buttons it takes to close your dress!" The sight of little Davy's curly head surfacing from beyond a cupboard, bewildered, with two fistfuls of the buttons from her large and gaping dress, caused the kitchen to ring out with laughter.

_ Ah, well – sweetmeats it is, then!_


	7. Sustenance

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Sustenance**

_059. Food._

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Sometimes her children came to her of an evening, during times when they were very, very poor indeed. At those times, Emma could offer them very little but a few tender smiles, for she saw the face of their dear papa in their own childish looks. She would tell them then, "You are made for greatness some day, my loves!" with all the feeling in her weak woman's heart – and sometimes, their mother's hopes and affection helped, a bit, to soothe the hunger in their little stomachs.


	8. Exchange

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Exchange**

_033. Too Much._

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"Tom – but, but how?" Traddles blushed as Sophy looked up at him with astonishment and, it seemed, a little fear. "Oh Tom, it's much too extravagant! What did you sell? For you must have sold something to buy it, and – "

But Thomas Traddles simply took the small thin hand on which he had placed her wedding ring in his own, and replied," Don't worry about me, my dear. I should say I made a fair exchange, indeed!" And he brought his dear girl's hand to his lips, feeling that, for another of her smiles, he would pawn away all the worldly goods he could.


	9. Mr Dick's Revelation

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Mr. Dick's Revelation**

_035. Sixth Sense._

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"Miss Betsey," Mr. Dick stammered, looking very guilty. Miss Betsey frowned, lay down her paper, and looked at him sternly. "Well, Dick, what is it?"

"I – I think I have discovered something I oughtn't have, and…and I don't know what to do, you know."

"No, sir, I _don't _know, unless you tell me," Miss Betsey returned, looking as if she were about to resume her reading.

"Ah, well, it is only that, I think Miss Wickfield don't want anyone to know that she is in love with Trotwood, but I see that she is, and so I DO know. I can't help it, you see."

Miss Betsey put down her paper again, and uttered a sigh. "Do not worry, Mr. Dick. You are not the only one who knows."

"Does…does Trotwood know, then?" Mr. Dick ventured, hopefully.

"That is the trouble, Mr. Dick. I am afraid he is the only one who doesn't!"


	10. Everything Right

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Everything Right**

_027. Parents._

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"Doady?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I…I was just thinking about how I am to be a mamma soon. I am a little frightened, Doady."

"But my own dearest girl, why should you be? To be a mother is the most natural thing in the world."

"I don't know. I know it should be very natural, but you see, I never had a mamma, and I can't be quite sure I am doing everything right. How should I behave? What was your mamma like? For I know you loved her."

"Why…she…she was very timid, and tender, and gentle. And… above everything, she loved me very much."

"Ah! I think I can be like that, and I _know_ I shall love my baby. I needn't be afraid, then. And maybe, if I am very careful, and like your mamma, he will grow up to be as kind and good as _you_. I hope so."


	11. Made to Suit

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Made to Suit**

_016. Purple._

"The old devil has found a way to make me even uglier," Miss Mowcher sighed, surveying a large, purple scar upon one side of her face. "My stars, I never knew him to be so quick, and violent! I daresay he thinks he had Miss Mowcher beat, but I shall correct him on that point." With one last look in her little dingy mirror, the dwarf turned to a low bureau, and picked up a bonnet trimmed with purple ribbons and flowers. She tied it firmly on her head. "What a color - it suits very well! Ha ha ha!" And with that, she made her way to court, to testify at Mr. Littimer's trial.


	12. Blind

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Blind**

_017. Brown._

Her eyes were brown.

He didn't know why that should be so very extraordinary. His mother's eyes were brown – so were Rosa's. Even that foolish Daisy had brown eyes. But where there was solemn pride and grandeur in his mother's eyes – fierce rage that sparked in Rosa's, as if they were burning away to embers – trust and admiration in Copperfield's (when they weren't full of girlish tears); there was something different in this girl's. It was wonder, and hunger, brimming up from her soul and finding their only vent in her look at him. He thought it rather ridiculous that her common eyes, alone, could make her seem so very different.

_015. Blue._

His eyes were blue.

Among all the people of her acquaintance, she had never seen eyes of such a shining shade before; her own were a plain brown, and those of the rest were dull and nameless colors, like the colors of clothing that had faded after too much use in the sun. Yes, out of everything fascinating about him, she thought she liked his eyes best. They made her think of the sea she knew so well, that so comforted and frightened her at once. They were not like eyes at all.


	13. Darkness

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Darkness**

_018. Black._

She hated her black dress with a passion. She completely and utterly hated it. It made her look like Miss Murdstone to wear it – old and ugly and hopeless, as though nothing was worth feeling joy – not even a pretty dress – and nothing ever would be again. Dora was glad she hated it – that meant there was no more room in her heart for the endless grief at her father's death – no room for the apprehension and uncertainty of what faced her next – no room for fear that she was right, and that happiness was a part of her past, that had left her, wordlessly, as swiftly as her father had.


	14. Lack of Color

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Lack of Color**

_019. White._

"A white dress? Why, what foolish nonsense is that, Clara?"

Clara hesitated. She didn't think a white wedding dress was such an extravagance. "After all – it is a holy occasion," she replied, timidly. Mr. Murdstone's frown changed from one of displeasure, to one of condescension.

"Clara, you are no longer _pure_, as you were in your last wedding – the boy is proof enough of that. To wear a white dress would be a mockery – a mockery of virtue and tradition."

"I – I hadn't thought of that," she returned. And she had never thought her Davy a compromise of virtue – thought he was all the reason more to dress in beautiful white.

She wore a dark dress to her wedding. It better accompanied his suit of deep black.


	15. Strategems in Love

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Stratagems in Love**

_079. When?_

His old tricks of humility did not work on her. That was how he had known she was different. The best of people, Uriah had learned, had still a little vanity in them, and it was through that weakness, however small it was, a little umbleness could bring them to their knees. He suspected Agnes had her vanities also, but she had suppressed them so deeply – as he had done with his own pride and ambition – that any compliment or praise was turned away with a shy smile, or a disbelieving bow of her head. Her own self-denial, he soon found, was her greatest defense against him, a sort of silent challenge that made him wish to find the way to win her, all the more. _The moment you know me best_, it seemed to say, _is the moment I shall be yours. _That sounded enough like love to him.

"It only needs attending to. I can wait."


	16. Husband, Wife, Child

**Written for FanFic100!**

**Husband, Wife, Child**

_010. Years._

Twenty for him, ten for her. I supposed it was ten for the little child in her arms, as well. That meant, then, that he was the very age I was when last I saw him. How strange that was to me – he had been with my mother, in her death, as long as I had been in her life; he knew my father more than I myself did.

I knelt upon the earth that had covered my father and mother, and half-brother, these many years past; and I wondered if they were happy where they were.


	17. Perfect Solution

_You partially have Laura Schiller here on to thank for this…her Uriah/Agnes fics do a great job of examining the dynamics between the two, including the way they interacted before David arrived on the scene. ;)_

**Perfect Solution **

_038. Touch._

She offers him her hand, and almost immediately jerks away. "Why, your hand!" she cries, distressed. Uriah Heep prepares himself for the addition of "it's like a dead thing" which is the general accompaniment, he has found, to such an outburst – but it never comes. Instead, the child says, pensively, "I know what will help. You simply need," she murmurs, searching in a little reticule she has, seriously, "a pocket-handkerchief." And saying this, she produces one, and passes it over the ledger to him.

"Why miss, I can't take this!" he cries, recoiling almost in horror at the fragile slip of muslin, which has clearly been stitched by herself.

"You need it far more than I," she responds, with the same smile. "It must be very warm out here tonight, I think. Well, good night, Uriah – I pray your work will not be too difficult."

With that, she is gone. As she shuts the door, the office room slowly becomes the same greenish hue once more, and is darker than before, yet, somehow, that fair kerchief is like some talisman from a brighter world.

And when Uriah Heep places it, carefully preserved, in the pocket of his blue bag – would you say he defiles it?


	18. A Gentleman Baby

_This one is more of a double-drabble, like the last one. So I'm cheating a little bit, lol._

**A Gentleman Baby**

_029. Birth._

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"Do you think as she'll have the baby tonight, aunt?"

"Hush! That's very rude, Ham!"

Ham was not exactly sure _why_ it was rude – indeed, every evening he was very much astonished there was no little Mr. Copperfield, judging from the extremely obvious condition of his fair mama-to-be. But he figured it was different for ladies than fishermen's wives, who were always going about having babies. Maybe it wasn't something Ladies were used to, or liked to talk about much. _He_ wasn't want to judge ladies, at least.

Perhaps making a similar observation herself, his aunt relented. "Remember, Ham, you want to keep in Mrs. Copperfield's good graces. She's entrusted _me_ to entrust _you_ to do a very important job – to fetch the doctor to help!"

"So I'll be a-helpin' the young gentleman into theis world, right, Aunt?" Ham suggested.

"In a way," she laughed.

"I should like to hold him – I've held babies before and no harm come to 'em, so I might, mightn't I?"

"I think you might."

Ham smiled. That was a fine thought. Other than his ma, and the doctor, and maybe Aunt Clara, he'd be the first person to hold young Master Copperfield.

"I expect a little gentleman baby wouldn't object to to my being just a fisherman's son," he thought. "A fisherman's son would love him just as well, and hold him just as tight, as a gentleman would do, and maybe better – if he were ever given the chance."


End file.
